Prayers
by andrastaie
Summary: Senior Warden Isethari Mahariel has joined the Ansburg Grey Wardens. And while out on a scouting trip into the Deep Roads with Carver Hawke, one of her curious habits becomes rather noticeable.


"Down!"

Loosing the arrow mere moments later, it whistled by Carver's head far closer than she'd intended. Isethari cringed, biting her lip as she ducked behind a nearby pillar. Peering out from behind it, she saw that the arrow had - at least - hit it's mark. Having sunk deep into a charging hurlock.

"Careful!" Carver snapped, an underlying growl in his tone.

"Sorry!"

One week. She'd been with the Ansburg wardens for just one week and already she was certain her comrades were convinced she was trying to sabotage them. Or something. Carver, however, he was the first to not only audibly complain about it… but he was the first to not brush her off. Not even a "don't worry about it" like many of the others gave her. And, somehow, she found it far more comforting. It reminded her of Fenarel, of home and the friends she yearned to see again. And never would.

"Fenedhis lasa," she hissed to herself.

Carver shot her a confused look. "What was that?"

"A curse." She nocked and released an arrow, ducking again to catch her breath.

"At me?"

Isethari, fully prepared to sigh and even roll her eyes, gave pause. The tone in his voice seemed off, different somehow - less gruff. _Is he upset?_ Blinking, she shrugged the weird feeling off and shook her head - even if he couldn't see the gesture.

"Don't be absurd, Ser Carver." She chuckled quietly. "That was directed at myself."

"Oh."

She peeked around the corner to see him pondering it, only to be distracted by an oncoming genlock. As he spun with his broadsword in hand, Isethari pulled another arrow from her quiver and took a shot. It sailed past his shoulder and sunk into the darkspawn's thick hide. Carver soon made short work of the creature and both of them looked around. Clear. _Finally_.

Slumping against the pillar, Isethari huffed out a deep sigh. After catching her breath, she slung her bow over her shoulder. Carver had seated himself nearby on a pile of rubble, cleaning off his blade. With care, Isethari picked through the carnage they had left behind, pulling arrows from the darkspawn and checking them over. The good ones she wiped off and tossed back into her quiver, while the others she merely cast aside before moving on.

"Why bother?" Carver asked absently. He'd paused in his work, looking up at her curiously. "We're heading back to the surface soon."

"Why waste?" she countered, shrugging. "Plus, you clearly have not seen me use my daggers, ser." She shook her head, coughing to contain a strained laugh at her own incompetence.

He shrugged in response, going back to his task and leaving Isethari to continue to pick out her arrows. She pursed her lips, still staring at him a long moment. The silence was unsettling. Shaking her head, she let out another sigh and finished gathering her arrows.

She sucked in a deep breath, kneeling down and clasping her hands together. With head bowed, she murmured under her breath. A prayer, as she often performed after battle. Carver had stopped again, sheathing his weapon and approaching cautiously. No sooner had he stopped in front of her, than she finished and rose to her feet again.

"I notice you do that a lot." Carver's brow furrowed, head cocking to the side just a little "After every fight, in fact."

Isethari stared at him quietly for a moment. Few had asked the question, most had either ignored the practice or hurried her along with frustrating side comments. From all she'd seen of Carver Hawke until now, he was last among those she'd expect such a question. Especially given the fact he'd ignored it up until now.

"I am praying," she said, softly.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, confusion clear on his features. "Praying?" he finally managed. The word croaked out awkwardly, as if he'd never used it in his life. He swallowed and shook his head. "Why?"

"Because it is right?" she countered. She inhaled a breath when he met her question with a confused stare. "I find no pleasure in taking the life of another living being. No matter how wicked or necessary, a death is still a death that I must honor."

Carver squinted slightly, his brows pulling together as he tried to work out her logic. "But these are darkspawn. What purpose would praying serve?"

"You misunderstand." Her voice was calm, quiet even in the oppressive silence of the Deep Roads. "I do not pray for them. My prayer is to Andruil, and to honor the Vir Tanadhal. I thank her for guiding my arrows, keeping my bow steady, and all that she has provided me with the kill."

"Vi-Vir Tanad… whatever that is. I've heard that mentioned before." Carver seemed surprised even of himself as he stumbled over the words.

Isethari's brows lifted. "You have heard of the way of three trees? Color me impressed, Ser Carver."

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm an expert. I've just heard the term before." He smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "But I'm still confused." His hand dropped as he spread both helplessly. "What are you provided by praying over dead darkspawn? Uh, no offense or anything."

She chuckled. "None taken. It is a difficult concept to explain to others." She sucked in a breath, recounting thoughts on the matter before forming them into words for him. "On a most basic level, she has provided me the opportunity to live and grow stronger. So that I may continue to protect that which is precious in this world."

Slowly, Carver nodded in acceptance. "I suppose that makes sense."

She offered him a small smile and a nod of her own. "Good. Let us be off, then, lest more darkspawn find us while we are ill prepared."

The silence became more amicable then, broken only be the occasional shuffle of rock and stone under their boots. Isethari was content, casting only periodic glances at her quiet company until the dank air began to lift against the cool breeze blowing in from the path to the surface.


End file.
